


Three Little Words

by qwanderer



Series: The Fallout from Kris [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, I have named the cellist Kris, M/M, Pheels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1429528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwanderer/pseuds/qwanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There aren't many things that Phil Coulson will hesitate to say, so when he does, Clint knows it's for a reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Little Words

**Author's Note:**

> It's April again, and so my romantic despair is back with a vengeance.
> 
> My ex's second wife _actually fucking plays the cello_ , and he got her her own instrument as an engagement present, so he must get more out of that than he ever did from my writing. He always liked reading, but when it came down to it, I suppose he always thought of it as a distraction. Storytelling is my life.

Those three little words are a custom, a watchword, a sign that everything is right with the world. A call and response letting them know they're on the same page. 

Kris had said them first, and it hadn't been hard to respond in kind. The words were new, but Kris always had a way of expecting warmth from him, making it seem natural; she made it easy to care about her. And oh, he really did. He cared a lot. He understood what her music meant to her, how it added to the world. 

It was really a shame that his own work wasn't so obvious to her. 

It wasn't her fault, really. So much of what he did was classified; so much of who he was was what he did. 

Kris had always said that just looking at Phil, anyone could tell he was a good man. Towards the end, she'd always follow it with some comment about how that wasn't enough. How there had to be more to him. 

The end came when she decided that maybe there wasn't. 

* * *

Kris had said it first, and he'd gotten in the habit of echoing it back at her, a call and response, like one of his safe codes with Nick or Strike Team Delta. It was what they did. Every night, if they were in the same bed, before they went to sleep, or if they weren't, on the phone, before they said goodbye. He called Kris when he could, and sometimes it wasn't every night, but he did his best, because things weren't right with the world until those words had been said. 

Of course, on days when he couldn't find the time to call, it was usually pretty obvious that all was not right with the world. 

And the weird shit was happening with alarming frequency, these days. 

Kris had started to complain. 

He wasn't sure when he'd started having to say it first, and she became the one echoing it back. It hadn't seemed important at the time. 

Until one phone conversation where he said it, and all that met him was a moment of dead air. 

Phil's stomach dropped, heavy with how wrong that sounded. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, Phil," said Kris, and hung up. 

* * *

That was before. This is now. But the words still sit heavy on the back of his tongue. 

Which is ridiculous. Because this is Clint. Clint's always been more important, if he's honest with himself. He loves Clint desperately. 

But the words are bitter and stay sticking there in the back of his throat, unsaid. 

"Clint, I...." he finds himself saying a lot, which is unlike him. 

Phil is afraid that he can't do this, he won't be able to do this right, that it's all going to go horribly wrong. 

* * *

"Can we talk?" Clint asks, and that's probably not good. 

"Of course," Phil answers, because he never, never overreacts if he can help it. "What's on your mind?" 

Clint smiles just slightly, crookedly. "Kinda what I wanted to ask you," the archer says. 

"I'm not sure what you mean," Phil replies, although he thinks he might have an idea. 

"Come on," Clint almost whines, "don't make this harder than it has to be. Just say whatever it is you've been wanting to say." 

Phil sighs. "It's not that simple." 

"Okay," Clint says. "Just... seems sometimes like you wanna tell me how you feel about me, but then you can't." He chews on his lip, looking up at Coulson from under his eyelashes. "I gotta wonder why. What are you afraid to tell me?" 

"It's nothing bad," Phil replies, not knowing how to explain. 

"Then what?" Clint asks. 

Phil tries again. "I...." It doesn't work. He has to try something else. 

"There's so much I want to tell you. I'm a little bit broken, and I know I have no right to complain because I've been so lucky compared to you. You've been hurt so much, by so many people, had everything taken away, had your faith trampled on. And all I have is this: I set my watch by Kris telling me she loved me every day, and then, one day, she stopped." 

"Oh," says Clint. "You still... kinda hung up on that?" 

"No," Phil says decisively. "No, there's just you. Clint, you're everything to me. And it's stupid that I can't tell you that the way I want to. I should be able to tell you." 

Clint's face is first relieved, then sad, and he puts a hand on Phil's face to draw his attention. "No, Babe, it's not stupid. It's what happens when you get kicked. Got all kinds o' those things myself, too many to count, things I do or don't do because I got kicked once an' decided that was why. An' you keep telling me those things are okay, so I'm gonna tell it back to you." Clint smiles, small and sad and fond. "Means you're human." 

Phil still hates that no matter how competent he is when the weird stuff happens and the extraordinary things need to be done, an ordinary thing like this can trip him up. 

* * *

A couple of days later, when they're gasping and clinging to each other and settling down into each other's arms, Clint tells Phil he loves him. 

That first time the words are ripped out of Phil, but he can't leave Clint hanging, he can't do to Clint what Kris did to him. So he gags on it a little, but he gets it out. It's good that it's with Clint right there beside him, because he starts shaking, and Clint gathers him up close and runs fingers through his hair and whispers, "Oh, Babe, you didn't have to, I didn't think you would, you didn't have to." 

"Yes I did," Phil says, "because I do, because I want to keep you," and he whispers endearments into Clint's skin in a continuous passionate litany, holding onto his archer and telling him all the reasons he loves him. 

* * *

It gets easier, over time, echoing the words when he hears them from Clint's mouth, settling into the new way the world works. Sometimes they're working together when everything goes to shit and even at the ass end of nowhere looking at overwhelming odds, hearing those words and giving them back in answer helps Phil remember that the world's not going to end, not if they can help it. 

The exchange stands in for goodnight, for goodbye, for good luck. They're a constant again. 

One day Phil says those words first, without thinking, and then a sick chill runs down into his stomach, and he freezes, listening. 

"I love you," Clint echoes without hesitation, and picks up Phil's hand to kiss it, before heading off to catch his plane. Phil breathes a deep, steady breath, and watches Clint walk away from him, knowing he'll come back. 

Those three little words are a custom, a watchword, a sign that everything is right with the world. 


End file.
